


Leopold

by theclaravoyant



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Academy Era, Academy!Fitzsimmons, Coming Out, Gen, LGBT+ Fitz, LGBT+ headcanons, trans!Fitz
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-31
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-07-11 08:37:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7041091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theclaravoyant/pseuds/theclaravoyant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Simmons knows. She found out pretty early on. I, um… I cried when I got my Shield Academy ID."</p><p>In which Fitz comes out to Simmons. A prequel to Bridget.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

A prequel to [Bridget](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7006360).  
[Send me suggestions](http://theclaravoyant.tumblr.com/ask) for this verse if you like.

-

Simmons bounced on her heels, scarcely able to contain her excitement. The line moved up another step and Fitz sighed. Simmons - orbiting around him like a tiny, excitable moon - bumped his shoulder on her way past.

“Aren’t you excited?” she breathed, wondrous. “A new year, new classes, new challenges…it’s going to be fantastic!”

Fitz smiled briefly, because in truth, he was a bit excited. He was getting used to being away from home by now, and he was looking forward to a fresh start, where people didn’t know his history. Not to mention, knocking the socks off some of the older students, and finally getting access to the materials Shield had lured him in with in the first place. But he was not looking forward to reaching the front of the line – and there was only three…two…one, steps to go.

“Jemma Simmons,” Simmons introduced herself. “2-1-3, 4-9-4, 9-3-0.”

She grinned as the attendant took her number and moved away to print her card. Fitz felt the bile rising in his throat as one of the other reception attendants gestured him over.

“Name?” they asked, slightly snappy – they had, after all, been doing this all day, and the procedure was really not that difficult.

“Uh…Fitz,” he muttered. “2-1-3, 4-9-1, 3-0-7.”

They didn’t ask for a first name. They probably had it already written down somewhere, of course, but Fitz felt a brief moment of gratitude toward the universe for not having made him say it out loud.

Simmons bounded toward him in that moment, grinning as she held her card out for his admiration – and honestly, who managed to look that good in identification photos? She must have the genes of a Disney princess.

“All done!” she cheered. “Yours must be soon – look.”

And just like that, the brief respite was over. The attendant beckoned him up to the desk without so much as a raised eyebrow, and Fitz wondered if they’d been asked, or trained, to be subtle about these things. Again, he was grateful if that was the case, but not grateful enough for it to drown out the way his heart leapt into his throat and he felt sweaty and suffocated all of a sudden. Taking that card meant his period of anonymity was over. Every login, every purchase, every assignment, every exam, he would be exposed, from this moment onward, by tiny little letters stamped on a piece of plastic. He could hardly bear to look at it, to acknowledge - but that’s what everyone did, right?

Not that it mattered, because Simmons danced up to him and plucked the card from his hand before he could take a look.

“No – Jemma – wait –“ The words stumbled out of his mouth far too late, and he reached lamely after her as she danced away, laughing. Terror and anger rushed through him like a cold wind and he lunged for the card, chasing her when she ran, until they broke out into the hallway and she relinquished it.

“Calm down,” she snorted. “You look a little stoned but it’s really not that bad.”

“What?”

“Stoned. Like. Drugged, spaced out, your eyes are all weird.”

“I know what stoned means.”

_How could she not have noticed..?_

Fitz looked down at the card. He ignored the photo, instead drawn to the top line underneath the logo.

_Leopold Fitz._

The anxiety turned to confusion, and slowly let go its hold around his heart. First, he frowned. They hadn’t even listed it at all? Not even as a middle name? Not even redacted? Leopold was not specified as ‘preferred’? He read over the rest of the card to be sure, and found nothing.

 _Leopold._  

Tears sprung to his eyes. His name, right there, in black and white. His real name. No qualifications, just let be.

“Fitz?”

_Leopold._

He looked up, and found he could hardly see Simmons through the tears that had welled in his eyes. He sniffed and wiped them away, but he could feel the warm, prickling sensation of more already on their way.

“Are you okay?” Simmons was frowning now, perhaps worried that she had taken her teasing too far earlier.

“I’m fine,” he assured her, his tone as soft as a whisper for fear of breaking under the relief, and the pressure he felt not to cry. His fist tightened around the card and he realised that blinking and sniffing was not going to be enough for much longer.

 _Leopold._  

He ran, bolted for the nearest private space he could think to find, barrelling out of the hallway and through to a cubicle, and all but throwing the door locked behind him. He drew his knees up to the seat, and read the card over and over, letting the smile spread across his face as his shoulders started to shake. His mother must have asked them or something – or maybe they already had procedures in place, who knew – but just to see it, to hold it in his hands, was enough to stop his thinking in its tracks. He had never expected it to feel like such a validation, he’d thought the dread of watching the wrong name come up in print was going to haunt him the rest of his life – but no. Here it was, proof, he’d achieved something. Not just something, _acceptance._  

“Fitz?”

Simmons’ voice interrupted gently, and she knocked on the cubicle door. In the background, there was a patter of giggles, but they were laughing because he was crying, not because they _knew,_ and in that moment, that realisation was such a tremendous gift he could hardly care about their mockery.

“Fitz, are you okay?”

The quivering concern in Simmons’ voice was, however, enough to bring Fitz down a little. The second round of giggles seemed louder, more pointed, more hurtful. And suddenly he realised where he must have run.

“Fitz…” Simmons tried once more. “This is the girls’ bathroom.”

-

Fitz paced.

He paced up and down, up and down a different bathroom - the tiny one in Simmons' apartment - until the frantic beating of his heart finally calmed enough for him to think through it. Simmons was waiting in the bedroom, very patiently, having insisted that he take all the time he need. He could say he needed to sleep on it, but then it would never leave him alone – and it would continue to plague her, too, endlessly curious mind that she was (and even more so when she was worried). Besides, as of this moment, he was deceiving her. That’s what it felt like, at least. And that wasn’t fair. He chewed his lip, and wondered, until the right answer – the one that, it seemed, had taken root when she’d knocked on that door, or maybe even earlier, maybe even when they’d met – sifted its way through all the fear and denial, back to the surface.

 _Tell her._  

The instant he crept out of her tiny bathroom into her room, she perched herself on the edge of the bed, eyes and ears forward, painstakingly attentive. Overwhelmingly so, in fact. She watched, confused, as he walked out of the line of her intense gaze, almost around it, to come sit beside her. She watched the worry on his face and the vague feeling that something was off crystalised into the realisation that whatever he was about to tell her – he thought, at least – was about to utterly change their relationship forever. Destroy it, potentially. Fighting back the urge to assure him to the contrary – he was still building himself up, she didn’t want to interrupt – she let him take her hand and tried to keep her eyes forward, not on his face, not pressuring him to remain as calm and collected as he was clearly trying to be.

“I – Jem-Simmons. About earlier, I- Well, the truth…The story is…”

She curled her fingers around his, clenching her teeth as her eyes tried to flick to his face and read every iota of concern and fear and whatever else it might betray. Upon her contact, Fitz took a deep breath.

“Look, it was the name,” he explained. “The name on the card. Leopold. That’s…not my birth name.”

Simmons frowned.

“What do you mean? Are you in Witness Protection or something? Is it a family member’s name, or something, and that’s why you got upset-”

“I wasn’t upset, I was happy.”

She frowned again.

“I don’t understand.”

Fitz waited, relishing the sensation that he was finding so hard to describe. _Happy_ didn’t begin to cover it. _Whole. Validated._ They would be more appropriate words.

“I chose that name. Well, Mum did. But that’s the first time I’ve ever seen that name written somewhere remotely official, and I was beginning to think they’d never get it right.”

“They’d never get Leopold right? Did they spell it funny?” She was starting to get irritated now, clearly there was something she was missing, and if she could just _read his face_ maybe she would get it but she was still trying not to look.

“No.” Fitz shook his head. “Look, Jemma, I’m transgender.”

Just like that, the tension in his chest, the racing heart, the pacing – it disappeared in a puff of smoke. There it was, out in the open, and whatever was about to happen was already on its way.

She looked, then. Locked her eyes on his for a long moment, and then slowly studied the rest of his face: his eyes, his lashes, the shape of his lips and cheekbones. She’d never thought much of it before, assuming that it could of course have just been how he looked, especially at that awkward pubescent stage he was at in life. Knowing what she knew now, she could see the femininity of it, not quite polished out by whatever hormonal treatment he must have been taking. And above all, she saw every facet of vulnerability in his expression, as he let her observe this about him and did not hide away from it.

“Leopold is my new name,” he continued, after several beats of silence. “Not my legal name. I can’t change it officially until I turn eighteen. I wasn’t expecting them to use it on my card, that’s why I got overwhelmed. I ran to the girl’s bathroom because, until last year, that’s…what I was, as far as everybody else was concerned.”

“That’s…”

 _Great? Awful?_ So many facets of the story were coming at Simmons at once, but she was still settling into this new piece of information. She would have expected a revelation like this to be somewhat more earth shattering. A little confusing, at least. Perhaps, if she’d known him before, it would have, but as it was, she simply smiled at him.

“That’s fine with me,” she promised. “Should I still call you Fitz or would you prefer Leo now that it’s, you know, official?”

She squawked as his arms wrapped her around her and squeezed tightly, pinning her arms between their chests and forcing her neck back as he buried his head in her shoulder.

“Fitz is fine,” he replied, his arms still locked around her, seemingly incapable of letting her go, or letting her move even an inch. Intent on savouring the moment. “Fitz is great. Or Leo. Leo or Fitz. Whichever.”

Simmons shuffled just enough to be remotely comfortable, and let herself sit. Clearly, he had expected her reaction to be more earth-shattering too – or, considering the intensity of the build-up to this moment, and of his deathly grip around her, maybe it was just as earth-shattering as he had anticipated. Only this time, the pieces were falling in the right direction.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jemma's classmates have an uncomfortable debate and Fitz stands up for himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hurt/comfort. Contains transphobic language including one use of the t* slur.  
> Disclaimer: I am also not a biologist but I didn't want to get too high-end with the biology bc that's when mistakes start getting made. Bear with me.
> 
> If you would like to see more trans!Fitz, you're welcome to prompt me here or on tumblr (@theclaravoyant)

Fitz didn’t spare a glance for Jemma when she came to sit near him at lunch. She didn’t mind – it was normal, when he was hyperfocused, and she had Kat and Tegan with her anyway. She said hello to him, because it seemed the decent thing to do on principle, and resumed her conversation. 

It was not until several minutes later, Fitz twitched. There was something he was hearing but hadn’t been registering, and a knot tightened in his gut the more he tries to ignore it. It had broken through his focus now; thrown off the rhythm of the eraser he’d been twirling in one hand, while sketching with the other.

“I’m telling you, gender is a social construct,” one of Jemma’s friends, Kat, insisted, and Fitz’s ears couldn’t help but tune in. He squeezed the eraser hard. _So that’s why I’m listening._

“Biologists don’t like to admit it but it’s true,” Kat continued. “Nurture, baby. The only reason trannies exist is because girls can do boy stuff now and the binary can’t handle it.” 

Jemma flinched, just a little, and shook her head, but bless her, she didn’t look at Fitz at all and he hid in his corner, behind his page, still listening more than he knew he should. 

“I don’t think that’s what it means,” Jemma pointed out carefully. “The way we _perceive_ gender is a social construct, based on our culture and the belief that Western knowledge is superior. The binary is the construct. Forcing people to act it out.” 

Her other friend sighed exasperatedly. 

“Chromosomes, though!” she insisted. “XX. XY. Problem solved. And yes, I’ve considered the other ones; they’re called defects for a reason. Not bad ones! Just like, heterochromia and stuff. A quirk of nature. But it’s supposed to be XX, and XY, and nature designed us like that for a reason.” 

Jemma huffed. 

“Nature’s not _God,”_ she snapped. “It doesn’t have a _plan for us._ Except maybe to let us make ourselves extinct with all these PCPs and cell towers and things.” 

“What does it matter though, anyway?” The first one interrupted. “If girls can do boy stuff and boys can do girl stuff why don’t we all just stay in our lanes and get on with life? Who cares if a boy thinks they’re a girl. Who cares how many Xs they have. I don’t. Good on ‘em. They can avoid periods the rest of their lives. Score.” 

“Well, not necessarily,” Jemma pointed out. “They can have surgery, you know. Many transgendered people are more comfortable that way.” 

“Serious?” The girl raised her eyebrows. “And it works and everything?” 

“Well…I assume so. It’s not like I’ve looked into it.” 

“It certainly seems like you have.” 

“Got something to tell us, Jems?” Tegan teased, prodding her with a finger. “Or – sorry, do you prefer James now?” 

Jemma twisted her fingers together uncomfortably, but rolled her eyes as her friends cajoled around her. 

“Come on, guys…” she groaned, trying to laugh it off. 

“Hey, does that make you gay now, or…” 

They laughed, and tried to nudge one out of her, but before Jemma could think up an explanation or excuse, the sharp slap of a pencil against paper snapped them all out of it. They all looked to Fitz, where the sound had come from, and only Jemma who knew him well could see the tension in his neck and arm where he squeezed the eraser so tightly his knuckles must have turned white. 

“It’s not a defect,” he insisted. “And it’s not a social construct. If it was, you wouldn’t have 90 year old war vets coming out. If it was, you wouldn’t have kids who’d had it beaten out of them their whole lives sticking by it anyway. People risk _dying_ to stay true to who they are. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?” 

They were a little bewildered, and even though his heart was thudding so quickly his head was starting to spin, Fitz was a little proud of that. He also felt a little sick, but he was in it now. In for a penny, in for a pound, he thought, and stared them down.

Kat lowered her eyes a little. 

“You’re right, I didn’t think about that,” she admitted. “But people risk dying to stay true to their religion too. Identity doesn’t mean biology.”

“Right. Yeah. Fair enough. But on that – “ Fitz stalled. He wasn’t a biologist; he could be getting this all the wrong way. _In for a penny,_ he reminded himself, and pushed on. “Did you know sometimes if people are born with penises that are too short the doctors can just turn them inside out? Yeah. All the outside bits are the same when you’re born and somebody comes along with a ruler.”

“Well, not the _same,”_ Jemma interrupted, and then stopped, because now was not the time. 

“And I said chromosomes!” Tegan insisted. “Not genitals.” 

“What do chromosomes even do though?” Fitz challenged. “What do genes do? Biologists don’t know half the stuff our bodies do or why. They can’t even agree on how we learn languages! Who are you to say gender isn’t an entirely separate biological feature we haven’t even discovered yet?” 

Tegan scoffed. “Somebody with a biology degree, which is more than you can say!”

Her eyes looked into his, wide and incredulous and a little provocative, daring him to push back again, and he realised that she honestly couldn’t see it. In any other circumstances he might have found that a comfort, even a victory, but in this moment he wished he could have worn a badge with it blazing across his chest. Instead, he gritted his teeth. 

Tegan pouted. 

“Aw, you’re gonna cry now Fitzy?” she moped. 

He clenched his jaw tighter, cursing himself. He loved this body, but it loved to betray him. 

“I guess you really wanna be a little girl, don’t you?”

Kat elbowed her and hissed _don’t be a dick,_ and Tegan brushed her off, but before she could open her mouth, Jemma stood, and put herself between them and Fitz. 

“I think it’s time for you to be going,” she insisted, her voice quiet and dangerous. Tegan watched her for a moment, and when Jemma didn’t back down, she rolled her eyes. 

“Whatever, kid,” she sighed. “It’s been real. Have fun with Mama’s Boy over there for the rest of your life. And if you want him to actually get anywhere, since you two seem to be attached at the hip or something, teach him how to handle himself in a debate, will you?” 

With that, she was gone, and Kat faded away too. Jemma wasn’t sure what side of the debate she’d ended up on and to be honest, she didn’t care. She’d made it through high school, university and two PhDs with friends dropping her left right and centre. Fitz was the one who’d stayed, and she’d stay right back.

“I’m not going to cry,” Fitz insisted stubbornly.

“Never said you were,” Jemma assured him brightly, as she came to sit beside him. She bumped his shoulder with hers. “You did really well. You were really punching above your weight and some of the things they were saying were really uncomfortable. But I think you got Kat thinking, if that makes you feel better.” 

 _“You_ make me feel better,” Fitz said. “You really looked into it all?” 

Jemma shrugged. 

“A little bit. You’re my friend. I wanted to understand. And make sure I didn’t put my foot in my mouth too much; I have a bad habit of doing that.” 

Fitz smiled weakly. “Yeah, you do.” Then he frowned down at his page. “I’m sorry you can never make any friends.” 

“Hey, if they’re going to be like that, we were never meant to be friends anyway.” 

“What happened to ‘nature doesn’t have a plan for us?’” 

“Oh, nature doesn’t,” Jemma explained. “But I do. And nobody that calls me ‘kid’ and makes fun of you for crying or being a boy is part of that. _You_ are. And as far as I’m concerned, you always will be. 

“Now, how about you tell me about this thing you’re drawing?”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set in the future, married!FitzSimmons run into an upset kid at a shopping centre. Some people call them Lily, but they don't like that very much.
> 
> FLUFF with some slight hurt/comfort.

Their lives had taken a merciful turn for the peaceful of late, and Jemma found that she was able to enjoy the frivolity of browsing through a department store much more without shadows over her shoulders that had been there for so long. Still, she nearly jumped out of her skin when Fitz came bounding at her, by a rack of bras, with a shocked and desperate expression on his face.

Just as she was about to his a scolding through her teeth at having frightened her, Fitz took her elbows in his hands. 

“Sorry,” he hissed, “it’s just – there’s a kid crying over there. By the bathrooms. I need you to go talk to them.” 

Jemma frowned. 

“Why don’t _you_ talk to them?”  
  
“I just – I just need you to do it, okay?” 

He glanced back over his shoulder, and now Jemma could hear the crying. The child did sound quite distraught.

“I’m sure their mother will be around soon,” she pointed out, but Fitz fixed her with desperate eyes.

“ _Jemma.”_

A little reluctantly, Jemma sighed and pushed her chosen items into Fitz’s arms, letting him lead the way back to the crying child. By the time they got there, the kid was hiding in the shoe section, sniffling miserably. Fitz still seemed anxious about this, and kept looking over to the bathrooms, rocking from one foot to the other. Had he witnessed what had made the child so upset? Either way, Jemma trusted his compassion, and they were here now. They might as well ask.

“Hey, sweetie,” Jemma crooned. “Are you okay?” 

“I want my Mom,” the kid muttered, burying their face. Jemma knelt down, a little closer. 

“Do you want to come with me and we can find her?” 

“Mom says I’m not supposed to go anywhere with strangers.” 

“Well, that’s okay,” Jemma agreed. “We can stay right here if you like. Is she in this store?” 

“Mhmm.” 

Jemma sat down, all the way on the ground. The child seemed a little comforted by this and gradually brought their face out of hiding. They frowned at Jemma, looking her up and down. Adults didn’t usually sit with children on the floor, hugging their knees like she was, especially not in public. She smiled gently. 

“My name’s Jemma,” she said. “What’s yours?” 

“Luka,” the child replied. “Some people call me Lily, too, but I don’t really like that.” 

Jemma glanced up at where Fitz was waiting, hovering near the end of the isle. How had he known? 

She pulled out her cell phone and messaged him. 

_Are you okay? What happened?_

“What are you doing?” Luka asked, peering at her screen. “Are you texting my Mom?” 

“No, I’m sorry, I don’t have her phone number,” Jemma explained. “I’m talking to my husband. He’s over there. Do you know him?” 

Luka peered over to where she was pointing. Fitz, seeing them looking, stepped better into view and smiled back uncertainly. 

“Yeah,” Luka said. “He was in there when they yelled at me. In the bathroom. He made them leave me alone.” 

“Who’s ‘they’?” Jemma wondered. 

“The boys. The real boys. From school. They hate me.” Luka picked at their shoe, pouting. “They’re mean to me every day.” 

“Every day, huh?” Jemma repeated. “Well that’s not very nice, is it? Did you tell your mum?” 

“Yeah. She said not to listen to them.” 

“That’s good. You shouldn’t listen to bullies.” 

“I don’t,” Luka said. “They’re wrong anyway. They think I’m a girl, but I’m a boy really. I don’t look like them, but I am.” 

“Well, that’s interesting,” Jemma said, nudging Luka with her elbow playfully and then leaning in to tell him a secret. “You know my husband, Fitz, over there – some people used to think he was a girl too. He used to look a lot like you. Except his hair was _really_ curly.” 

“Really?” Luka perked up, looking for Fitz, who had wandered a little further away and was looking rather aimlessly at shampoo and hair-ties in the next section over. 

“Yeah,” Jemma promised. “And if you ask him really nicely, he might even talk to you about it. He’s really nice, I promise. Shall we go and see him while we wait for your mum?” 

“Yes!” Luka declared, leaping to his feet. Jemma leapt after him, taking his hand as they crossed the walkway to find Fitz. 

“Fitz, this is Luka,” Jemma introduced. “He wanted to say thank you for making the bullies go away. And I told him about Bridget, and he said he wanted to meet you.”

 _Is that okay?_ her eyes checked, and Fitz smiled, before his attention was drawn back down to Luka. 

“Bridget?” Luka asked. “Is that what people used to call you?”

“Only a very long time ago,” Fitz said. “My name’s Leo now.” 

“Jemma said your name is Fitz.” 

“That’s my favourite name,” Fitz said. “But Leo’s my name too. Leo Fitz. Bridget’s not my name anymore though. I don’t like it when people call me that.” 

“Me neither.” Luka screwed up his nose. Fitz beamed.

“So, Luka?” he asked. “Did you pick that name or did your mum give it to you? Or does your mum still call you Lily too?” 

Luka shook his head. 

“Mum and Dad both call me Luka now. They both know I’m a boy. Mum even took me here to buy boys’ clothes.” 

Fitz frowned briefly at Jemma. Where was Luka’s mother? 

Then, all of a sudden, there was a clacking of heels on the walkway tiles that slowed as their wearer approached, and sighed with relief. 

“Luka!” the woman cried. “Are you okay? I’ve been looking for you! I told you to meet me in the stationary section, what happened?”

“I had to go to the toilet, and Mark and Brandon were there, and then Mr Fitz rescued me, and then I talked to them because people used to think Mr Fitz was a girl too but he’s really a boy and he’s really cool and Jemma’s his wife and she’s really nice.” 

Luka beamed. Fitz shuffled closer to Jemma and smiled, a little uncomfortably, as Luka’s mother looked over the strangers who had been with her son who knew how long. They seemed alright, and friendly enough, and they hadn’t taken him anywhere, but it still took a while for her heartrate to slow down. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs, uh-“ Jemma stalled, realising she knew two of Luka’s names, but not a last one.

“Braverman,” the woman replied. “Linda Braverman. Thanks for looking out for Luka. Those boys are truly awful, I’m trying to talk to the school about it, but…” 

Her eyes darted over Luka’s head, as the boy’s attention was grabbed by a set of novelty sponges a few shelves below. Her face suggesting that she didn’t want to finish the sentence while her little boy was around, and Jemma and Fitz gave her sympathetic looks in return. 

“Well, he appreciates you trying, I’m sure,” Fitz put in.

Linda pressed her lips together for a moment, thinking, and then glanced back at Luka who was wandering down the isle, looking at make-up.

“Mom!” Luka called. “I think they have your one!” 

“Thanks, sweetie!” Linda called back. “Show me in a minute!” 

“Okay!” 

Linda’s eyes went back to Fitz and Jemma and she asked, a little hesitantly –

“Sorry, I don’t mean to pry, it’s just – I don’t really know what I’m doing with Luka, and an opportunity like this doesn’t come along every day. D’you… Do you have any, uh, tips or anything? The news is so ugly about this kind of thing and sometimes I wonder if I can really do anything to help make it easier for him.” 

“You can,” Fitz promised. “You are. You seem to be doing really well so far, actually. Believing him, helping him – it’s more valuable than you think, I promise.” 

He wasn’t sure if she could see just how valuable it has the potential to be, in the carriage of his head or the colour of his eyes. He wasn’t sure if he wanted her to know, in the end, all that he might have given away. But his heart was so full of Luka, smiling and happy, and with a mum and a dad that both supported him. Maybe the times weren’t really changing, exactly, but people’s hearts were, and that was always the beginning, after all. 

Linda smiled, a little tearfully, and nodded. 

“Well, thank you very much for that,” she said. “I hope you two lovely people have a lovely day, but if you’ll excuse me I’ve got to get back to my son.” 

Fitz and Jemma farewelled her, and Fitz was still smiling dreamily, his own eyes starting to tear up a little. Jemma wrapped his hand in hers and kissed it, and after a moment more watching Luka and his mother make their rounds, Fitz and Jemma swung back into the aisle, hand in hand as they walked away.


End file.
